


i shiver and rage, you shiver and reach

by sweetheartbitterheart



Category: Justified
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-01
Updated: 2013-03-01
Packaged: 2017-12-03 23:53:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/704085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetheartbitterheart/pseuds/sweetheartbitterheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim doesn't like to talk about the things that wake him up in the middle of the night.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i shiver and rage, you shiver and reach

**Author's Note:**

> Just a one shot I wrote sometime last year and originally posted on FFN.

Tim doesn't like to talk about the things that wake him up in the middle of the night ( _he refuses to call them nightmares, despite the eerie similarity they hold to the ones he had as a child_ ). He especially ignores them if they happen when he's sharing a bed with Rachel.

Sometimes he wakes her up along with him. Sometimes he doesn't. He prefers the latter, because at least then he can pull himself back together without her tired eyes watching his every move, looking as if she wants to reach out to comfort him and ask _what's wrong, how can I help, are you alright_.

Every time his mind betrays him and he wakes with a start, he can't help but feel such relief if he hasn't disturbed her ( _even if there is a small part of him that wouldn't mind giving in to her silent inquiries_ ).

He takes a deep breath in through his mouth and breathes out through his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He slowly counts back from ten, listening to the quiet of the room. Sparing a glance at Rachel – who is deep asleep, lying on her stomach with her face turned towards him – his face twists up into a cross between a grimace and a smile. He stands up on shaky legs, making his way to the bathroom.

He runs the tap, splashes some water on his face, then gives himself a good once over in the mirror. He glares. He sighs. He's so fucking exhausted. And it shows, bad.

Once he enters the bedroom again, he is not surprised by the look of Rachel gradually and disgruntledly waking up.

"Tim?" she asks, her eyes struggling to adjust to the darkness of the room and desperate to seek out his.

"Yeah," he replies quietly, crossing the room and crawling back into the bed. They don't touch, not right away, but they are close ( _so very, very close_ ) to one another that they feel each other's body heat.

"Tim," she says, her voice going soft. This time it is not a question, it is a comment, a reassurance. The urge to bolt nearly overwhelms him then.

But he just stays put.

He looks at her, even in the darkness, he can perfectly make out the lines and shapes of her face, her body, and it is strangely calming. So he shifts closer. She's still lying on her stomach, and he moves from the comfortable position on his back to a less comfortable one on his side to better face her.

They stare each other down.

Tim knows she's not going to drop the subject. It's happened too many times now in her presence for her to just ignore it and pretend everything's fine.

"Rachel," he murmurs, close to her mouth. His tone is uneven and he closes his eyes on the last syllable of her name.

The next thing he feels is the familiarity of her hands running along his jaw, his mouth, and his cheeks before her hands make their way through his messy hair. It is all very calming. It's the exact level of comfort Tim has always felt undeserving of. But here is this beautiful and tough and stubborn woman happily trying to reassure him.

"How are you? Really?" She asks him in a quiet voice, slanting her eyes up to meet his.

He lets out a groan and feels that urge to bolt rise up in him again, but he pushes it down. "Shitty," he tells her, "Really fucking shitty."

She chuckles at that, not unkindly, and he even spares a small smile. "I knew it," she says.

He wants to roll his eyes – like he would if this conversation wasn't about him and they were at work in the daytime – but he just concentrates on the feeling of her hands on his face and in his hair.

"Tim," she says his name sternly, but softens as she continues, "You know I'm here. I'm right here."

He nods lazily, even though his heart and his head are swimming in uncertainty. He just pulls her forward to him, lying on his back once again but this time with her laying across his chest. They are pleasantly pressed skin to skin. It is a whole another form of intimate.

"Right here," he whispers against her ear. The exhaustion is really starting catch up on him.

"Yes," she promises, "not going anywhere."

And even though Tim is close to drifting off again, his heart swells and nearly bursts at the unprompted declaration of affection Rachel has suddenly thrust upon him. It is the closest they have come to admitting real, not-just-friendly feelings.

Slowly, eventually, the nightmares ( _he's finally given them back their name_ ) come less and less. Although there are still times when Tim wakes up in a cold sweat, his heart pounding and his ears ringing, Rachel is right there ( _always_ ) and he is grateful and welcoming towards the comfort she brings.


End file.
